Pure Devotion
by FoolbyHeart
Summary: The boys are in their mid-twenties, all four having had a bit of time to relax. But as of late a family is slowly being killed off. One thief keeps on slipping through their fingers. A friend's life is in mortal danger. And a new creature is wading through the sewers. How can all of these be related to one another? How will they cope with this while falling in love. Turtles/OCs


**Ready to read about how our four favourite turtles fall in and out of love? You want a story in which new dangers lurk in the shadows? Then I'm sure this'll be your cup of tea. Balancing out the romance and friendship with action, mystery and horror.**

**Summary: The turtles are in their mid-twenties, all four having had a bit of time to relax. But as of late a family is slowly being killed off. One thief keeps on slipping through their fingers. A friend's life is in danger. And a new creature is wading through the sewers. How can all of these be related to one another? And what consequences will it bring to the Hamato family.**

**Chapter 1:  
Things never Change**

"If you're feeling good, don't worry. You'll get over it"  
_**~ Anonymous**_

It was still early in the evening when the striking red motor cycle raced through the streets of Manhattan. It's driver recklessly cutting corners and drifting past the cars that went way too slow by his standards. You could call it a real skill how he always managed to push his older brother's sanity to the very edge with his uncontrollable behaviour. No matter how often the leader asked him, told him, ordered him, pleaded with him to end this dangerous act, this hot-headed turtle refused to slow down. It just wasn't in his nature to do so.

Ahum... well, ignoring all the other non-mutant turtles out there, of course.

With a screeching noise the cycle came to a quick halt in front of Manner's Salvage Yard, just outside of town. The property, consisting out of several acres covered in stacked, wrecked cars, outbuildings and a decent looking house, was owned by a troublesome old drunk, Gus Manners. Trees and a wooden fence ringed the area everybody knew not to cross. As long as they preferred not to be hunted down with a loaded shotgun in the hands of a madman. The red clad turtle had dealt with that situation first-handed.

The visitor walked past the entrance of the house, straight to the woodshed around the back where the lights burning inside casted a tall shadow behind him. He placed his feet with care, not wanting to step into a pool of oil like the previous time he visited. Music from the stereo across the handmade garage was blaring music, and despite loving the rocking tune of a soloing guitar, he turned the music down.

"I told you, the parts ain't coming around 'till Tuesday," The rough, whiskey and cigarette damaged voice said.

When Raphael looked up to see Gus Manners walk towards him with his usual scowl, the broad turtle grinned. The man was about six feet tall, wearing worn down and tattered clothes covered in grease and oil. His grey eyes were small and bloodshed, his face wrinkled and unshaven, his breath smelled of cigarettes and cheap whiskey, his hands were covered in callus, but it suited the old man like no other. It showed he was a hard working mechanic, and you could always rely on him to hold up to his promises.

"Not here for that, old man," Raphael replied, accepting the beer handed to him with a nod and a curt cheer before bringing the lid to his dry lips. After training he'd taken a quick shower and immediately jumped on his bike to drive by this place, forgetting to grab some fluids.

"If yer lookin' for company, boy," He grumbled. "I'm afraid I can't give ya some. Got work to finish, and an early mornin' ahead."

"Oh, come on old man," Raphael protested with a friendly punch aimed at Gus' shoulder. "You're all work, ya need some time to relax."

"Don't bother, boy," Gus growled, shoving the turtle teasingly. "I already got one person motherin' me 'bout that." He frowned, and nudged his head towards the cars further in the back. "Speakin' of which, go smother her will ya, she's been cooped up in here all day. I may be old, but in my time, girls would flutter around boys like flies around cows on Valentine's day."

Raphael chortled at the serious comparison of lovesick girls with flies, and let his amber eyes travel towards the moving shadow in the back. Pondering whether he should skip the talk, and just head out to bang some heads together in the streets. With a can of beer lingered at his lips, Gus easily read Raphael's mind.

"Playin' vigilante can wait, ya know," He said, already walking away. "plenty of scum in the city. All who'll be there tomorrow just the same."

With a sigh, Raphael's shoulders dropped, and he made his way towards the girl whose head had disappeared under the hood of some old Chevrolet. A sight about as common as seeing Michelangelo read comics, Donatello tinker on some mechanical device, and Leonardo meditating with their father. Who, for the next couple of months, was out for a 'personal' trip. It came out of the blue, and the questions about it were answered quite vaguely. A little too vague for Raphael's liking.

"Careful, you'll fall in," He snickered, shoving the teen girl a little further into the hood of the car. A yelp escaped from her, and she jolted right up, knocking her head painfully against the steel hood of the car.

"Urgh," She growled, rubbing the sore spot on her head while she slowly stepped away from the vehicle. "Hi to you to, Raph."

He laughed curtly, plopping himself on the chair by the small table. The wood was old and its finish was long worn off by now, making the table feel rough to the touch. With a few cuts here and there, along with the dirty cloth and tools lying on top of it. His three fingered hand reached for a screwdriver and aimlessly twirled its tip in the wood.

"You greet all your friends like that?" She scowled, coming up to the table to try and clean her dirty hands with the stained cloth.

"Only the ones I like," He grinned, amused by the girl's frustration. She had her grandfather's grey eyes, but hers were rounder with thick eyelashes. She wore her black locks in a messy bun on her head, strands of hair falling in her face and tickling her cheeks. A hand reached up to push them behind her ear, knowing they'd fall back shortly after doing so.

"Figures why you only have so few," She mocked, throwing the cloth at his face. The turtle was quick to catch it before it hit its target, and threw it right back at her.

"Says the girl who's been cooped in here all day," He snorted. The cloth landed on top her head, and she lazily casted it aside. She shot him a confused look before turning back towards the wreck on wheels. "It's Valentine's day." He exclaimed.

"I know," She replied, leaning on the car to study her work on the engine. "Since when does that have anything to do with my social circle?"

"You're seventeen, Sammy," Raphael replied lazily. "Shouldn't ya be droolin' over some kid whose greatest achievement of the year is growing chesthair?"

"Right," She laughed, flashing a smile at Raphael, raising her eyebrows as if asking whether he was being serious or not. "Where's your chest-hair, old fart?"

"I've got enough muscles to show my man's worth, _kid._" He growled. Being twenty-four meant he was about seven years older than her, and she enjoyed teasing him about it. He, in turn, loved to remind her of her age.

She shook her head, rolling her eyes and bend down to rearrange some threads. "Speaking of Valentine's day. Why aren't _you_ on a date with your pretty girl tonight?"

"Ya know me," Raphael replied casually. "I hate those chick-flick moments."

"Why," She sighed. "Scared you might actually grow lady-parts if you're being nice for too long?" She mocked him.

"Joy's out of town anyway," Raphael said with a tone that told Samantha to drop the subject. Too bad she was one to pry in businesses that she shouldn't bother herself with.

"Wasn't she planning on staying until next week?"

"Something 'bout her folks," Raphael mumbled absently. "Donatello asked if you got your hands on that subgenity thingemebob with automatic cooling thingy." He said, flailing one hand in the air while he boredly took the beer with the other.

"Subgenerator with the atomic-drain-cooler." She said with a knowing smile, eyeing Raphael amusedly. "You sounded allot like Mikey just now."

"Hey," He growled. "I thought the old man taught you not to swear. I might have ta clean that mouth with some soap." He grinned wickedly, as if he was already planning out the way to pull it off.

"He also taught me not to talk to crazy old men." She said, grinning when he heard him snort at her comment.

"Did ya get it, or not?"

"Not quite," She answered, tinkering with the mechanics. "A friend of my grandfather's got one lying around. Promised to bring it over today, but turned out he caught the flu or something – I'm picking it up tomorrow after school. Dropping it off at your place afterwards."

"Mikey sure would love that," Raphael said, the chair creaking in discomfort when he leaned back. "He's gettin' bored with his games and comics, and tries to drag me and Don into doin' stuff with 'im." He huffed.

"What happened," She asked. "comicbook store closed? Game industry gone bankrupt or something?"

"I dunno," Raph grunted. "He's just... restless."

"Maybe he needs to get laid..." Samantha mumbled, blinking at the sound of beer being spit out at high speed after she stated the obvious. "What?" She asked the mutant who was glaring at her with an intensity of a thousand flames.

"My little brother's too young for that!" Raphael exclaimed disgruntled.

"You sound upset." Samantha replied, raising herself from her work to look at him.

"Of course!"

"Mike's just as old as you are." She stated matter-of-factly, slightly put off by Raphael's irritation about the subject. "And the only one who has been without a girlfriend so far." She continued, leaning against the car to count on her fingers. "Leo dated Karai for a while... Don's been with this Alien girl for a couple of nights – what was their story again?"

"Catfight." Raphael snarled.

"Care to elaborate on said 'catfight'?"

"It doesn't matter," Raphael scowled, quickly getting up from his seat. "Mikey's our little brother, he doesn't... you know." He motioned with his hand suggestively.

"Have sex?" She asked, watching Raphael's face twist as if he'd been sucking a lemon. "Having the need for female attention is a very natural and normal behaviour. What do you think he thinks of when he needs a cold shower?"

"That's it!" He roared. "I'm leavin'!"

"I'm just saying –"

"I heard ya the first time!" Raphael hollered back to her, leaving with a curt wave. A few minutes later she heard his cycle screech away from her home.

"Weirdo." She sighed, turning back to the car with a frown. Not being able to remember quite where she had left off, and tried to retrace her steps in her mind after shoving her hands in the pockets of her grey dungarees.

**-)(-)(-)(-**

"Didn't I tell you not to touch that button!" Donatello fumed at the orange clad turtle by his side as they sprinted after a thief they knew a little too well for their liking.

"I'm sorry, Donny," Michelangelo apologized, turning the corner inside the museum along with his brother. "But she tricked me into doing it."

"Figures..." Donatello mumbled with a shake of his head, entering a tall hall filled with antiques from the golden age. He raised his arm to stop Michelangelo when he did, and both walked around the foreign objects.

"Boring," Michelangelo complained. "Where's the comic-book section in this place?"

"Concentrate, Mikey," Donatello said, bo-staff in his hand while he scanned the room for the female thief.

"But concentrating makes me hungry," He whined, placing his hands on his sides. A revelation coming to him. "Think she's long gone, bro."

"Not quite," The black figure chuckled lightly before she dropped herself from the pipes above the turtles onto an empty marble pedestal. "So, you're going to make the red-handed quip, or should I?"

"How about you just give back the gems you stole?" Donatello suggested, aiming his staff at the female burglar. Who was wearing her usual all black unitard, black shoulder pads, boots and gloves. The chest area of her uniform was emblazoned with three red clawmarks, and her abdomen area was coloured in a lighter grey. Around her waist she wore a black utility belt with a few pouches and a black and red whip, also carrying her Eskrima sticks in a holster on the side of her right leg.

"Straight to business already," She smirked. Her mouth and nose being the only visible area since the cowl with cat-ears covered her head. "I like it."

Quickly she leaped forward, Eskrima sticks ready to attack Donatello the moment she reached him. Wood clashed against wood until a pause in their fight came when Michelangelo joined in with his nunchuks, which were blocked. Now standing in between two ninja turtles, with both her weapons keeping them at bay, she eyed them both amusedly.

"I was hoping for a little excitement,"

"Careful what you wish for!" Donatello said, twirling his staff and launching another attack. She jumped up, spun backwards in the air and crouched down to avoid the nunchucks that swung at her.

"Alright kitty-cat," Michelangelo said smirking, leaping towards her with his weapons twirling in the air. "let's see exactly how fast you – Urgh!" With a round-about kick against his plastron Michelangelo flew up in the air, and landed in a glass box. Pieces of shimmering glass shattered loudly, falling to the floor. "She's pretty fast," He groaned. "Kicks hard too."

"Thank you,"

Donatello stepped forward, swinging his bo in her direction, but she turned in time to block the attack with both her Eskrima sticks. The brown eyes of the purple clad turtle met with a pair of bright blue, smiling at him. He retreated his staff long enough to prepare another attack to her legs, slamming her off her feet.

"Urgh," She groaned after hitting the floor painfully. "That's no way to treat a lady, you know." She said, swinging her legs at Donatello, who leaped away in time, and she easily pushed herself off the ground and onto her feet.

"You tell me when you see one?" Donatello replied with a knowing smile. Narrowing her eyes she lifted her hand, but her wrist got caught by Michelangelo's nunchuck, pulling her back and he kicked at her. She backflipped and reached into her pouch.

"You're pretty good when I'm not playing dirty." She said. "Too bad playing nice isn't my thing."

"You know what she's talking about?" Michelangelo asked his brother, who shrugged his shoulders. His eyes widened when he noticed her bringing something to her mouth.

"Get down!" He yelled, pushing the confused Michelangelo aside.

"Donny?" Michelangelo voiced when Donatello stumbled into his arms. "Hey, Donny. What's wrong?" He asked worriedly, noticing the little object sticking in his shoulder.

"Poisoned...darts..." Donatello gasped, falling forward.

"Don!"

"Sleep tight," The girl said softly, catching Michelangelo's attention right before she blew the next dart at him. With a thud he too fell to the floor, his brother lying next to him. "Sweet dreams, turtle boys. I've got some business to attend to."

**-)(-)(-)(-**

John Battelle cursed under his breath when he used the wrong key to his apartment for the third time in a row. His hands were trembling, his eyes darted around to survey the trash filled alley around him. His muscles were tense from the stress of the anxious feeling he had from being followed. He just knew they were right behind him, which was why he had to get inside right away.

"Finally..." He breathed with relieve, opening the door quickly and slamming it shut behind him. For a few seconds he remained just there. Hands on the cool metal of the door, letting the ominous feeling die down and loose its death-grip on him. Taking a deep breath, smelling the rotting food and moulding walls, he straightened himself.

His hand reached into his pocket, fingering the little square object he had been able to salvage from what was left of that godforsaken place. With big steps he strode past the flickering answering machine, and went straight into his room. He needn't check who had called him. He had promised Samantha to have the subgenerator ready for when she came by, and she had called to make sure he remembered. Like she always did.

A thud coming from the kitchen caught his attention, causing him to hold his breath and silently close the door of his bedroom. They had broken into his home, an omen he already knew of what would bring him. Calling the police would be out of the question. They most likely had cut the telephone wires anyway.

With eyes locked at the bedroom door he moved backwards, in the direction of the small table were the subgenerator lay, among other mechanical devices he loved to tinker with. His final hour had come, but that was not his biggest worry. No way he'd let them get their filthy hands on it. Not now, not ever. He pulled the square disk from his pocket and pushed it randomly inside the subgenerator. It was his best option. All the other spaces he thought were safe would be the first places these people would look.

The sound of footsteps coming to the door reached his ears.

John Battelle had many regrets. There were many things he wished he could've done. Many things he wished he had done differently. He could only pray his death would not be in vain. He prayed they wouldn't find it. Pray for his poor, meaningless life to be avenged. And that they'd feel sorry for the day they had laid their hands on the Battelle family.

The feet came to a halt in front of his door. One that creaked when it was pushed open slowly. The dark silhouette of John's stalker stood in the doorway, and it remained there for several seconds. He could hear his heartbeat pound away in his chest as he stared at the figure. His father had called this person the Angel of Death. Quick to kill, meaning that his death would come with as little pain as anyone could hope for when they knew their time was up.

"What are you waiting for?!" John screamed when his nerves were getting to him. "Come and get me!"

It were his last words before the stalker moved forward within the blink of an eye, and slit his throat swiftly. Blood sprayed on the walls and floor, and with a thud the body felt to the ground. It lay there motionless while the blue eyes of John's killer looked down on him. A slender hand reached up to wipe away the blood of the killer's face, a smile indicating the joy it felt after slaughtering a man in cold blood.

The Angel of Death... An assassin born with the instinct to kill. She was what the victims saw last before the darkness caught them. With those striking blue eyes looking straight at them.

* * *

**Looking forward to read about what you think.**


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